


Set the World on Fire

by papercutperfect



Category: Wanted (2008), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Public Sex, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-02
Updated: 2012-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-04 17:59:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papercutperfect/pseuds/papercutperfect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For identical twins, they really aren’t all that similar. </p>
<p>OR</p>
<p>The one where Charles goes down on Wesley under a table.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Set the World on Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Pure PWP. I regret nothing.
> 
> Title is a line from ‘We Are Young’ by Fun.

For identical twins, they really aren’t all that similar. 

The same basic features; startlingly blue eyes, paper pale skin, slightly crooked nose. Both wear the same scattered array of firework freckles across their shoulders, noses, arms, and neither of them quite breach the 5’7’’ marker. Matching red lips that Wesley once compared to the first spray of arterial blood across freshly fallen snow - Charles never questioned where his brother had acquired such a macabre visual, and Wesley never expanded upon the story. 

Their differences were far more numerous, from the subtle to the glaring.

Charles identified as a tea-lover. Wesley was more of a coffee person, or hot chocolate if there was a cup on offer. One boasted a rough American accent, the other a practised English. Charles could curl up on the couch with a good novel and a brandy to while away countless hours, whereas Wesley soon grew antsy cooped up in one place for too long, wandering the hallways of Westchester manor like a caged animal. 

Charles liked to dress, in his own words, ‘sensibly’; that is to say, cardigans and cotton button downs, comfortable slacks coupled with smart shoes and blazers. Wesley tended to favour t-shirts beneath ratty, heavily repaired sweaters, with his favourite leather jacket draped over the top. Gone were the office ties and restrictive starched collars, thrown to the wind or happily handed down to Charles. 

Both twins knew how to handle a firearm, Wesley through his forced initiation into the Fraternity, and Charles from his short service in Korea. But where Wesley was never more than a hairs width from a pistol, Charles point-blank refused to touch a gun ever again. Both physically fit in their own way, Charles through early morning jogs around the estate burned into him from army drills, though Wesley owed his thanks to the strenuous daily routine necessary for his dangerous occupation. 

There was that, of course. It was Wesley’s job - no, his destiny to hunt and kill the people the Loom dictated. He didn’t think about the man or woman that came attached to the name, shooting those twisting bullets with a practised flick of his wrist and a blind apology on his lips. Charles stubbornly resolved to fight his battles with words and reason, though that wasn’t to say he hadn’t killed in the past. He’d had guns held to his head, bombs dropped on his shelters. He’d seen men he’d trained with die, felt the hot spit of their blood on his face. His abhorrence for violence paled in comparison to his lust for life.

And on a much lighter note; Wesley could drink Charles under the table. 

Literally in some cases.

Perhaps it was the so-called ‘stress condition’ he’d soon come to realise as part of his mutation, a higher increase in metabolism burning the alcohol from his system long before it had much of a chance to affect him. Charles, on the other hand, slipped further and further under the spell of cheap liquor with each glass of lager that passed his lips, until he had smiled that seductive smile that set goosebumps shivering across Wesley’s skin and slipped covertly off his chair to duck beneath the table. 

Wesley gulped a shocked mouthful of air and flicked his eyes around the noisy, crowded pub - no one had so much as looked up from their drinks, paying little attention to the quiet twins seated in the corner nursing tall glasses of foaming beer. Trust Charles to chose a place with tablecloths, though right now Wesley was mentally thanking whatever Fate was cutting him some slack; the off-white fabric fell halfway to the ground, at least partially concealing whatever it was Charles intended to do down there, and no doubt a gentle cloud of telepathy would handle the problem of his visible knees and neatly tucked feet. 

‘ _What the fuck you think you’re doing?_ ’ by now, Wesley was easily accustomed to speaking directly into Charles’ mind when verbal communication was out of the question. He leaned back in his chair, carefully casting his eyes down to where Charles was peeking up at him from the shadows beneath the table.

‘ _I would have thought it was quite obvious.’_

Hands on him now, dancing fingertips running the length of his jean-covered calves to tap a rhythm into his knees. Wesley looked around again, already feeling his heart rate pick up.

‘ _You couldn’t wait until we got home?_ ’ Wesley frowned, nudging Charles none-too-gently with the toe of his boot. ‘ _What am I supposed to do here?’_

‘ _Just shut up and look pretty.’_

Wesley’s geared up retort was quickly bitten off when Charles’ exploring hands reached higher, wrapped around the thick leather of Wesley’s belt. Well fuck; Charles wasn’t playing games this time, determination in his teasing. Light pressure, a thumb stroking the shape of Wesley’s budding desire through heavy material even as Charles tugged down the zipper, popped the top button. 

‘ _We’re in fucking_ public,’ Wesley managed to hiss, a flutter of panic riding the waves of his hammering pulse. It wasn’t the first time they’d done this, mutual flirting leading to heated kisses and desperate touches, the two of them wrapped in bed sheets and their own tangled limbs. Charles liked to scrawl literature into Wesley’s skin, inking words of love and adoration amongst scars the wax hadn’t fully managed to heal. Wesley left his own calling cards in the form of nips and bites, sucking bruises into the peachy skin at Charles’ inner thigh. 

But this… this was different. Away from the walls of the Xavier manor, free of their locked bedroom door or steam-filled shower stalls. Charles had never initiated anything in the public eye before. A large group of girls laughed loudly and threw naughty-shaped confetti over a giggling Bride-to-be, while young adults happily broke in their ID cards at the bar. A bouncer was dragging an inebriated teenager out of the bathroom. Elderly gentlemen played darts on the back wall, and a rough dance floor was currently being set up by a grumpy, middle-aged employee. Background music, incessant chatter, clinking glass. In short, the place was packed. Dozens of minds for Charles to manipulate, and if he missed so much as one of them, overlooked someone seated at the back of the pub or a new pair of eyes wandering in from the courtyard --

‘ _Have a little faith in me, Wes. I can handle this,_ ’ a challenging slap to the side of Wesley’s hip, ‘ _The question is, can you?’_

Wesley bristled, fingers tightening in their curl around his half-empty beer glass, ‘ _Bring it.’_

Charles’ answering smile was pure mischief, and Wesley bit his lip as Charles’ fingers pushed past his fly, drew him out from the thin barrier of his boxers. Cold air mingled with hot puffs of Charles’ breath; Wesley grit his jaw and gave in, trusting in his brother’s abilities.

A pause, the punch of Wesley’s heartbeat deafeningly loud in his ears - then Charles was leaning forward, slotting more comfortably between the spread V of Wesley’s legs, and brushing his lips to the very tip of Wesley’s cock.

The wired anticipation of that barest touch almost had Wesley’s hips jumping off his seat. Charles’ dark chuckle didn’t even try to be quiet. 

More brief kisses, the slow skip of Charles’ lips maddeningly light, until Wesley was ready to just flip the damn table and grab fistfuls Charles’ hair and drag him down, fuck the rest of the bar watching them, they could pull up a fucking chair for all he cared --

‘ _So impatient, my friend_ ,’ Charles tutted from his hiding place, and Wesley jumped as the silken tip of Charles’ tongue flicked over him, ‘ _I‘d almost think you wanted to get caught.’_

Wesley chewed his lower lip and focused on his drink, though his eyelashes fluttered tightly shut when Charles finally began to lick at him in earnest, lavish strokes from root to tip. This was pure torture - Wesley wasn’t exactly the most vocal of lovers, but right now he couldn’t even moan at the sensation of that gorgeous tongue drawing circles around the head of his cock, any and all sounds of encouragement hitching painfully in his chest. He wasn’t going to last long, the excitement and yes, that element of danger thrumming through his veins like the whip-crack of electricity. 

“Excuse me?” 

Wesley jerked, covering the dull thump of Charles’ head hitting the underside of the table with a loud, surprised cough. A woman from the hen party was standing beside him, and for a horrifying second Wesley was sure she was getting the perfect overhead view of his exposed flesh through the gap between body and table -

‘ _She can’t see you_ ,’ Charles was rubbing his sore head and smirking around an eye roll, ’ _Your modesty is safe.’_

‘ _I wouldn’t exactly call this_ safe,’ Wesley growled back before turning his attention to the woman. Pretty enough, with curled blond hair and curved hips. Not really Wesley’s type; he much preferred brunettes. 

Ideally, the brunette currently shifting back into position and -

‘ _Jesus fucking Christ, Charles-!’_

\- sucking Wesley’s cock into his mouth. 

Wesley fought hard to keep from squirming, twitching his lips into the barest of smiles and pulling a grounding breath through his teeth, “Yeah?”

“I was just wondering if you were drinking alone, or…?” The girl waved to Charles’ empty glass and seat. The bride-to-be and some of the other hens were watching her with keen interest from their cluster by the bar, giving her a quick collective thumbs up when she glanced over. 

Charles hummed a laugh, delicious vibrations buzzing through Wesley’s nerves. That sinfully wet mouth slid lower, hot and deep and driving him rapidly insane. What Wesley wouldn’t give to press further, twist his fingers into Charles’ ridiculous hair and lose himself to the decadent pleasure of it. Instead, he choked out a, “I’m waiting for someone.”

The woman smiled coyly, “I saw you sat with your brother, right? Want some company while you wait?”

Wesley ran his suddenly dry tongue across his lips. Charles was lapping precome from the head of his cock, fingertips massaging both thighs through Wesley’s jeans, “He won’t be long.”

‘ _Double-entendre, Wes?’_

Wesley squeezed Charles’ shoulders between his knees in warning; no, he wasn‘t going to last long if the man kept this punishment up. Charles’ laugh echoed through Wesley’s mind as he slowly slid his mouth back down the length of Wesley’s cock, hollowing his cheeks with a particularly wonderful curl of his tongue. 

Sweat was beginning to bead on Wesley’s forehead, pulsing coil of his brother’s arousal mixing with his own until he felt he was burning up from the inside out, heart slamming against his ribs. The woman looked a little dejected, and Wesley would have almost felt for her if he wasn’t receiving the best blow job of his fucking life.

“Oh,” she swept her eyes down Wesley‘s heavily-breathing form, concern creasing her eyebrows. Charles picked up his pace, head bobbing back and forth and dragging a stuttered gasp from Wesley’s lungs that even he couldn’t stifle. The woman took a step closer, “Are you alright? Do you need some water or-?”

“Look, I’m fucking fine. Great, even,” Wesley struggled to hang on, pleasure churning hot and tight in the base of his spine, “Leave me alone, I’m not interested.”

The woman frowned, clearly affronted, snapping something along the lines of Wesley being an asshole as she turned on her heel and stormed back to her questioning friends. Wesley couldn’t bring himself to care, the beer glass steadily splintering in his hand like fine cracks in a layer of ice. 

‘ _Well that wasn’t very nice,_ ’ Charles’ voice held no real chiding heat, a low purr that only enflamed Wesley further, ‘ _You could have simply explained to her that you already belong to someone else.’_

‘ _I wonder who that could be.’_

Charles only hummed in reply.

And, oh, it was just too much, that talented mouth working him to the quivering edge of release, until Wesley was biting his lip hard enough to draw blood and arching his spine into the uncomfortable curve of his chair. 

A glance down; Charles’ electric blue eyes stared up at him from the darkness under the table. Plush lips stretched wide, a blotchy flush of arousal painting his cheeks with red and pink watercolours -- Wesley’s breath caught on a gasp, body pulsing with sudden release. Pleasure so intense he saw stars popping and winking behind his eyes, arms and legs shaking with the pure force of his aftershocks. Charles took it with expertise, holding Wesley’s hips steady in a tight, spread-fingered grip.

Time slowed to the same breathless slipstream of an impending kill, Wesley’s heartbeat slow and measured in his ears, though he knew that, in realtime, it would be jack-hammering fast enough to blur the lines of medical possibility. Distantly, he was aware of Charles tucking him back into his jeans, warm body slipping away from between his legs. Those blue eyes were in front of him now, brimming with laughter and the deep shadow of raw need. 

Slowly, Wesley brought himself back. The press of voices and scraping chairs clamored against his eardrums - no one was screaming, no one was panicking. No bouncers were grabbing the twins by the scruffs of their necks. Indeed, no one seemed to have noticed a thing.

Charles lay his chin in his hands, an entirely too-smug grin curling his lips, “Back with me?”

Wesley huffed, legs wobbly as he hauled himself to his feet. The glass in his hand was barely intact, riddled with cobweb cracks and leaking the remains of his drink across the tablecloth. From the corner of his eyes, he could see the hen party girls glaring at them, the bride-to-be slinging an arm around her rejected friend. 

Wesley was laughing before he could stop it, a gasp of breath that bordered on crazed. He seized Charles by the arm, pulling the grinning man against his chest. Thread of need and pained arousal still there, and Wesley flashed him a wink.

“You ever fucked in the back seat of a car before?”


End file.
